EPIGRAPH: The Logic of Metaphor
"It is my hope to go through the combined materials of the poem, using our “real” world somewhat as a spring-board, and to give the poem as a whole an orbit or predetermined direction of its own. I would like to establish it as free from my own personality as from any chance evaluation on the reader’s part. (This is, of course, an impossibility, but it is a characteristic worth mentioning.) Such a poem is at least a stab at a truth, and to such an extent may be differentiated from other kinds of poetry and called “absolute.” Its evocation will not be toward decoration or amusement, but rather toward a state of consciousness, an “innocence” (Blake) or absolute beauty. In this condition there may be discoverable under new forms certain spiritual illuminations, shining with a morality essentialized from experience directly, and not from previous precepts or preconceptions. It is as though a poem gave the reader as he left it a single, new word, never before spoken and impossible to actually enunciate, but self-evident as an active principle in the reader’s consciousness henceforward.
...As to technical considerations: the motivation of the poem must be derived from the implicit emotional dynamics of the materials used, and the terms of expression employed are often selected less for their logical (literal) significance than for their associational meanings. Via this and their metaphorical inter-relationships, the entire construction of the poem is raised on the organic principle of a 'logic of metaphor,' which antedates our so-called pure logic, and which is the genetic basis of all speech, hence consciousness and thought-extension.
...If the poet is to be held completely to the already evolved and exploited sequences of imagery and logic--what field of added consciousness and increased perceptions (the actual province of poetry, if not lullabies) can be expected when one has to relatively return to the alphabet every breath or two? In the minds of people who have sensitively read, seen, and experienced a great deal, isn’t there a terminology something like short-hand as compared to usual description and dialectics, which the artist ought to be right in trusting as a reasonable connective agent toward fresh concepts, more inclusive evaluations?
...New conditions of life germinate new forms of spiritual articulation. ...the voice of the present, if it is to be known, must be caught at the risk of speaking in idioms and circumlocutions sometimes shocking to the scholar and historians of logic."
– Hart Crane, 1925
Diversification of the two common sub-species of Whiffle-Owl:
Beccus gracilis gracilis and B. grotesqus nutali – An illustrated fable
We are well familiar with the two sub-species of whistling owl inhabiting the tropical beetle-nut forest near Kalamazu. It has always been the opinion of evolutionary biologists that a random mutation caused the upper mandible (beak) to have sufficient conformation to crack the once inaccessible nut, thus splitting the species into two economic niches within the same territory -- the bat-eaters and the less common nutters. In 2003, a team of archaeological linguists from Flatiron University uncovered papyrus documents carbon-dated to the same epoch as the proposed adaptive radiation event. Thought to be remains of local newspapers, these documents illustrate a larger context to the event. Chief investigator Cluseaux had long had reservations about the mutation theory, considering that the trait could not be a random event in an individual and spread so rapidly through the population, even through a portion of it. This suspicion of error, in fact, sent him into the forest in the first place, auspiciously under a grant to study echo-location of fruit-bats for the Department of the Navy back in 1947.
The papyri shed enough light on the matter that we have to re-assess our opinions of the differentiation of the innovative nutters and the more conservative but graceful and expressive bat-eaters. The document speaks of Skreeiach, an owl born with an absurdly grotesque beak which largely interfered with his ability to produce recognizable whistles to other owls, and more importantly, could not effectively interfere with bat echo-location during the food quest. Had he not discovered his peculiar talent as a nut cracker, he would have surely died. Even so, the trait should have been self-limiting as all his mating calls were misinterpreted and there was no female he could intice with his hidden charms, despite the fact that he shared his nut-meat with others who liked the delicacy immensely, but all considered him a bit of a barbaric (even if useful) fool. Except, that is, for one -- his third cousin Schrillya. She had been a survivor of a near drowning incident as a child at the local swimming pool producing a life-long tinnitus which filtered out much of the environmental background noise, although not to the extent it interfered with hunting or communication. However, it also rendered Skreeiach's whistles intelligible, and the tasty nut-meat, his gifting nature and charming language over-rode his offensive appearance. They had many offspring adaptable to either material base, and this is how the gross-beak trait spread through the population.
Moral of the story? Life is pataphysical. Life is dada. Priority is nuts in a forest dotted with public swimming pools. Only Absurdity is reasonable, so reason must be equally absurd, if only to justify itself. Absurdity and logic are constrained in no antipodal truss. The gene, the lesson, the material base, necessity and the weirdest juxtaposition of ideological events reiterated daily are equal absurdities among the multivarious contingencies of reinforcement. This in no way implies a lack in the predictability (expectation or receptivity) of patterns or security in movement: sometimes there is more reality found in fiction than the Daily News, itself more often than not, only a hobby-horse balancing lies and blaming it all on the gravity of each situation.
As Susan Sontag suggested after reading the Selected Essays of Simon Weil, "Perhaps there are certain ages which do not need truth as much as they need a deepening of the sense of reality, a widening of the imagination. [...] is that what is always wanted, truth? The need for truth is not constant; no more than is the need for repose. An idea which is a distortion may have a greater intellectual thrust than the truth. The truth is balance, but the opposite of truth, which is unbalance, may not be a lie."
The Liberation of Motion Through Space
Time is a system of measurement, which is to say, a ruler, and authority. There is a reason why, during many insurrections, clocks have been smashed and calendars burned. There was a semi-conscious recognition on the part of the insurgents that these devices represented the authority against which they rebelled as much as did the kings or presidents, the cops or soldiers. But it never took long for new clocks and calendars to be created, because inside the heads of the insurgents the concept of time still ruled.
Time is a social construction which is used to measure motion through space in order to control it and bind it to a social context. Whether it be the motions of the sun, moon, stars and planets across the skies, the motions of individuals over the terrains they wander, or the motions of events across the artifices know as days, weeks, months and years, time is the means by which these motions are bound to social utility.
The destruction of time is essential to the liberation of individuals from the social context, to the liberation of individuals as conscious, autonomous creators of their own lives.
The revolt against time is nothing if it is not a revolt against the domination of time in one's daily life. It calls for a transformation of the ways in which one moves through the spaces one encounters. Time dominates our motion through space by means of "necessary" destinations, schedules and appointments. As long as the social context which produced time as a means of social control continues to exist, it is doubtful that any of us will be able to completely eradicate destinations, schedules or appointments from our lives. But on examination of how these modes of interaction affect the ways one moves through space could help one create a more conscious motion. The most notable effect of having to get somewhere (destination), especially when one has to be there by a certain time (schedule/appointment), is a lack of awareness of the terrain over which one is moving. Such motion tends to be a sort of sleep-walking from which the individual creates nothing, since the destination and the schedule pre-exist the journey and define it. One is only conscious of her surroundings and how they are affecting her to the minimal extent necessary to get where she is going. I don't deny that many of the environments through which one may move, especially in an urban setting, can be disturbingly ugly, making such unconsciousness aesthetically appealing, but this lack of consciousness causes one to miss many chances for subversion and play that might otherwise be created.
Subverting one's motion through space, making it one's own, freed from the bondage to time, is a matter of creating this motion as nomadic motion rather than self-transportation. Nomadic motion makes a playful (though often serious) exploration of the terrain over which one is passing the essential aspect of the journey. The wanderer interacts with the places through which she passes, consciously changing and being changed by them. Destination, even when it exists, is of little importance, since it too will be a place though which one passes. As this form of motion through space becomes one's usual way, it may enhance one's wits, allowing one to become less and less dependent upon destinations, appointments, schedules and the other fetters that enforce the rule of time over our motions. Part of this enhancement of the nomad's wits within the present time dominated context is learning to create ways to play around time, subverting it and using it against itself to enhance one's free wandering.
A radically different way of experiencing living occurs when we are consciously creating time for ourselves. Due to the limits of a language developed within this time-dominated social context, this way of experiencing life is often spoken of in temporal terms as well, but as a subjective "time", as in: "The time when I was climbing Mount Hood..." But I'd rather not refer to this as subjective "time" since it has no shared purpose with social time. I prefer to call it nomadic experience. Within nomadic experience, the peaks, the valleys and the plateaus are not created in steady, measurable cycles. They are passionate interactions of the sort which may make one moment an eternity and the next several weeks a mere eye-blink. On this passionate journey, the sun still rises and sets, the moon still waxes and wanes, plants still flower and bear fruit and wither, but not as measurable cycles. Instead, one experiences these events in terms of one's passionate and creative interactions with them. Without any destination to define one's motion through space, linear time becomes meaningless as well. Nomadic experience is outside of time, not in a mystical sense, but in the recognition that time is the mystification of motion through space and, like all mystifications, usurps our ability to create ourselves.
A conscious, playful, exploratory creation of our own motions through space, of our own interactions with the places we pass through, is the necessary practice of the revolt against time—nothing less than creating events and their language. Until we begin to transform ourselves into nomadic creators of this sort in the way we live our lives, every smashed clock and every burned calendar will simply be replaced, because time will continue to dominate the way we live.
– Feral Faun
Nomadology & the Periodicity of Crisis
"Poverty is not a certain small amount of goods, nor is it just a relation between means and ends; above all it is a relation between people. Poverty is a social status. As such it is the invention of civilisation. It has grown with civilisation, at once as an invidious distinction between classes and more importantly as a tributary relation that can render agrarian peasants more susceptible to natural catastrophes than any winter camp of Alaskan Eskimo."
For the nomad, the most radical subjectivity is alterity. For the nomad, the country and town do not represent polarity or dichotomy, processes which preclude alternatives by insisting on one or the other with such "first principles" as "You can't have your cake and eat it too". Sometimes you can!
A literal synonym for civilisation is citification. A littoral (coastal) city of fishermen works well only as long as the fish are running. The key distinguishing character, the criteria creating crises, is the alternative given between nomadism and sedentism.
In the first condition, one travels to resources such as food, (except with regard to pastoralism, in which case the food can walk its own self and one's self walks to where your animal's food is – deep sea fishing works the same way). The automous city is a city-state – the state being the condition of stasis, 'standing still' – despite the proclamations of imperical reality. Empire is merely Ice-9 metastasizing the planet like any other cancer slowly bringing life to a standstill.
In the latter condition, sedentism, one is completely at the mercy of the "harsh and cruel" vagaries of nature, where one must expect resources to come to you. It logically follows that you yourself are the center of the universe, mouth open after uttering "Feed Me", and the ego is given birth, completely at the expense of the id, that excitable homunculus ever ready to move to where the next party's at. The universe itself shrinks in a fit of myopic contraction.
The cruelty recognised by sedentism is merely the fact that nature moves about while the sedentary, sedated and citified must stand still. It is not only capitalism which is ever-entangled with crisis from holding tight to contradiction (in the same fashion that the church once legislated against performing together the five basic functions of living organisms in public, namely: eating and drinking, shitting, pissing and fucking. Capitalism occurs among the citified egos exploiting other egos, indiscriminate of moral proclivity, but whose ids have been submerged in the galley or catacomb, set to simmer with an anchor chain wrapped around the ankle. Capitalism is a catabolic form of cannibalism:
CATABOLISM: the production of energy (capital) through the conversion of complex (living) molecules into simpler (dead) ones, one little bite at a time.
But there is another interpretation, adapted from our friend, Dr. Freud: The development of the ego, that black hole sitting helpless at the center of the cosmos, that is to say, "child development in the modern world", is the process of infantile regression whose first principle is "Let the world come to you". Development is the process of increasing gravitational mass.
The contradiction begins early. In fact the first role model is the man in the blue mask who, with a glint in his eyes, rubs his hands and tells your mother "Here, let me help", and proceeds to tie his lasso to your foot and the other end to to the bumper of his pickup. The more common method of extraction entails not a pick and shovel, but sidekick Tonto's hunting knife. Either method is accompanied by the incantation, "I'll get that little sucker out if it's the last thing I do!". Modern medicine! What'll they think of next? Ah yes, the mechanical suction cup to the head followed by scheduled feedings of powdered commodity via stomach tube or other mechanical contrivance. Politics and punishment emerge simultaneously as soon as the child discovers...
THE POLITICS OF CIVICS: To suck or blow, that is the question!
...resulting in the general economy, the give and take between expenditure and thrift of suck-ups and blowhards – it's the only game in town!
On Militancy Under the Capitalist Umbrella
(Poi) & Interregnal Space
Imbrication: Non-majesterial overlapping domains. When Cuban peasants picked up guns from fallen members of the hostile occupation forces, Did Fidel Castro or Che Guevara come running up shouting "¡Ponga eso hacia abajo! ¿No sabe usted fue hecho por los Puercos Occidental de Imperialista?" [en inglés: "Put that down! Don't you know it was made by Western Imperialist Swine?"]
Elimination: To emerge from the limen, that interregnal space of either total ambiguity or hyper-regimented constraint, where one is (in the first) or feels (in the second) trapped betwixt and between. A breakthrough rather than breakdown. Applies equally to Memory, Shit or Piss & Vinegar.
Sublimination: Below the threshhold. Breakdown is only a breakthrough stopped while attempting movement in an other direction. Forgetfullness and Constipation. May lead to Catatonia. Orwell emerged in Catalonia.
Sublime: Crawling out the other side of the pit, transformed. Emergence. In the comedic narrative, if the observer and performer do not emerge wrong-side out, it is a tragedy.
Sublation: A symbiotic or mutual merging in extreme omniinterattractability. More than a marriage between a bee and a dandelion producing new seeds for both, but the kind of merging and synerging which results when the seed is consumed by the egg. It is an explosion of sorts which not paradoxically produces growth rather than annihilation.
Lag: The pause which refreshes, demonstrating the 'fact' (sic) that the exploration of non-euclidian space, the Limen, is necessary for movement. Without it, that particle of risk or indeterminacy, explosion results, the instantaneous conversion of a solid to gass without an intervening period of liquid (sublimation). It gives that certain tang, like the twang of an onomatopoeic bow string, to a lime or a lemon, and strengthens immunological warriors. It is recognised by the expression of an overall look of shock, the wiggle of a giggle or merely a subtly raised eyebrow.
Meaning: A theory which hides out in the interregnum and is only found between the lines. It's emergence is always accompanied by a surprise – "Ahah!" – or, for the hyper-flatulent and fluent, a yawning "Duh!"
Principles of Entanglement
and Spheres of Influence
In a distributive (communicative or "communist") system, no culture (small c) is autochthonous. Yet this movement guarantees autonomy with no catastrophic perturbation to distributivity.
"Without quantum mechanics, there is no Newtonian physics;
Without Euclidean geometry, there are no dynamical, synergetic systems;
Without indeterminate chaos, there is no ordered regularity;
Without the absurd surprise, there is no predictability;
And vice versa."
– Lao Tse, paraphrased
You may play the abacus or quipu like a guitar. The fingering and the image and the scapular poem or shanty match the pattern of fingering the sound (of notes & melody) and the sung words -- the interaction is the memory -- meaningful instantaneity. Hum a few bars (get me started) and the rest comes together. Not a semantic system but a sensorial integration establishing or predicting turning points, or decision.
Some poetry demonstrates the non-euclidean logic of an abacus delivering an answer as a simultaneity to your posing the question with no calculation whatsoever.
It demonstrates the absurdity of quantifying a primary value of supremacy of the directional or original one over the other, the absurdity of the nature - nurture controversy, the priority of invention over discovery, the historical philology of a word and its cognate over an accidental structural similarity or fluke of diffusional borrowing, less along lines but across spaces.
Finally, it annihilates the necessity of demanding a singular (par excellent) designatum for every signifier or design for every sign, an older origin for every destination ... a lesson taught by every trickster.
Consumption and Simple Aesthetic Praxis according to Webster (or not)
n. (plural sumps; see swamp
- Reservoir for liquid: a low area into which a liquid drains, e.g. a pit or reservoir
- U.K., Australia, New Zealand: automotive "oil pan"
- mineral extract drainage reservoir at the bottom of a mineshaft into which water drains and is then pumped away
- mineral extract advance excavation ahead of the main excavation of a mineshaft or tunnel
[15th century. < Middle Dutch somp
, Middle Low German sump
archaic: magnificent or grand in appearance [see hip
]; modern: grand expenditure (see sum/summa
: totality, mass, swampish, the indeterminate matrix or superflourishing hodgepodge)
For example, "The sum of all squares [see unhip] is inversely proportionate to the hypothesis of the hypopotomous."
anticipate, seize beforehand, prevent, hasty venture, dare, be so bold, take the liberty, make free, have the audacity, have the nerve, believe, guess, deduce, imagine, suppose, take as read, take for granted, postulate, posit, gather, "think".
Generally applies to The Establishment (of) Truths.
endorse without analysis; (under)take without checking for vital signs; risking chance; swim without water; immersion in a swamp (or e-mersion from it) (See guess
For example, "Assume the position".
drinking/swimming/drowning together; also, mutual sumpage or mass extraction – hence, succumb to death or immerse in commerce – hence[sub2]
, the a priori necessity of mercenaries to mercantilism to prevent freely navigating mariners with bad manners.
short for co-mercenary activity (see coersion
'contracted commersion', 'reduction to commiseration' (mutual misery); as well, see[sub2] mercy
'the taking of slaves by sublimating deadly authority', 'a sentence reduction'.
Marian(toi)nette 'a puppet theatre AND a mercy killing!'
following your nose: There is an intimate connection between yourself and your nose. It is grand sophistry (by virtue of the word, "follow" – here, a necessary or a priori topographic relationship in which the holes are more pertinant than the protuberance) to associate this with acquiescence and impose an opposite, or place in the dialectic semantic of "follow" and "lead". To go ahead of your nose is to assume or to walk backwards (retreat first, sniff later) or requires amputation (walk ahead, with your nose dragging behind like a harnessed child struggling with the leash). The opposite of following your nose, if we must think dialectically, is being lead by the nose! Acquiescence merely adds a silly-ass grin to the image.
With a bit of aesthetic practice (sniffing about):
can be returned to the semantic domain of "ease of passage" and away from quantified, qualitative (structural) connotations altogether. This does not imply the negation of structures facilitating movement until they become fetishised and therefore, "counterproductive". It's hard to co-opt a boat until you claim ownership (but as far as the boat is concerned, you've changed nothing!) or remove it from its context (the essence of the being of the boat) and ensconce it in a wet theme park – the simulacron of travel, an empty motion.
For example, the simple difference between Bush and Obama is that the latter is simply a bush of a different colour, and taking a lesson from the Grand Wizzard of Oz, that always indicates a dye-job in pursuit of a con (see plexiform: resembling or in the form of a plexus or network – a 'webbed trap').
Sans manoeuvrer politique:
(The Political Maneuver, a corrective juxtaposition of antagonism and manual labour):
merely refers to articulations (as opposed to crises) in a passage: turning points allowing a path to meander or a complete transgression in search of a different drum, a bigger swamp. Swamp thereafter loses its association with overwork, and superflourishing disassociates from the superfluous.
Or am I confusing revolution with stand up comedy?
Not a categorical reification, but a processual personification.
AMBIGUITY AND INVERSION IN LANGUAGE AND RITUAL
When Alice in Wonderland says, "I can see nobody," and the admiring response to this linguistic ambiguity is, "My, you must have good eyes,” we all immediately understand the joke of the absurd play on words as well as on structural principles and see beneath the even deeper level of lampooning general principles of logic. All of us, irrespective of cultural background, seem to enjoy this kind of play with logic and structure, which enables us to escape the prison of the cut-and-dried rule-governed realm of deductive principles: yet we can only escape the prison by applying the rules of paradox through acknowledging these rules. In other words, we use the rules in order to show that a strict adherence to them leads to absurdity.
– Klaus-Perer Koepping
In all lands, the Trickster is foremost a teacher. Raven taught us that our speech originates in mimicry and showed us not only the location of fresh carcasses or goose eggs we might share in the eating, but more importantly, that the world is not always fixed in black and white. A close inspection of his cousin, the blackbird, will present one with all the filmy colours of a spreading oil slick.
Spider taught us the notion of cordage, baggage, weaving and also trapping. More important than this was the idea of extending our horizon by attending to even the most inauspicious of vibrations.
Coyote taught us to follow the animals and learn their habits if we get hungry. That it's alright to appear the clown. More importantly, that gender or species distinctions are less consequential than we give them credit. To illustrate the point, "he" turned himself into a pregnant dog and followed us around till we called her part of the family.
Snake-Which-Looks-Like-a-Stick (the ubiquitous "stick snake") taught us to be careful of what we grasp and then gave us the idea of poisoned arrows, effective at a distance against the biggest of thugs.
Of course, it is said Prometheus gave us fire, but not until our world started to get very cold. For this compassion, the "gods" sent vultures to eat out his guts. On the other hand, this might have been our one feat of ingenuity. Moths have regretted our new-found specialty to this day, and to avenge their dead ancestors who fried in the flames, wreak havoc on our fabric hoping we'll chill out or go away.
note: see Coyote Steals Fire
Of Furies & Futures
ERINYES, or FURIESThey were the goddesses of revenge in Greek mythology. They were the female supernatural personifications of the anger of the dead. Horrible to look at, the Erinyes had snakes for hair and blood dripping from their eyes.
"O that I had never drank the wine nor eaten the bread
Of dark mortality, nor cast my view into futurity, nor turned
My back darkening the present, clouding with a cloud,
And building arches high and cities, turrets and towers and domes
Whose smoke destroyed the pleasant garden, and whose running kennels
Choked the bright rivers....
Then go, O dark futurity! I will cast thee forth from these
Heavens of my brain, nor will I look upon futurity more.
I cast futurity away, and turn my back upon that void
Which I have made, for lo! futurity is in this moment...."
– William Blake
Human-nature & Self-awareness
The main difference between the human being and other life forms is that it is the only one which lacks self-awareness. At least at present, it is the only species we know of which continually asks "Who am I?" and "Why am I here?" and "Where am I going?" and "What's the fucking point?" Existensialism invariably turns the existence of problems (which can be nothing but obstacles or turning points) into that grand unity, the problem of existence.
- Everyone who says "everything is recouperated / co-opted" (and therefore, we are to presume, futile) is a pig.
- "Destroy the totality" is an over-reactive overgeneralisation traveling under the euphamism, "Suicide".
- Stamped to the cover of a book, either might produce a best-seller.
- Anything, especially if it is not a thing at all, can be sold.
The intent to sell everthing under existence creates crises and disasters for capital (read: 'the avant garde of civilisation'). But it is an expert at resolution precisely because it understands that death is the only answer to the problem of existence. Sensitivity and experience are inconsequential. It has no interest in and (therefore) no need to understand any of its merchandise. Every disastrous backfire has only kept money and power circulating further upward. The less one understands, the faster it accelerates. A backfire only produces a downshift which looks like a set-back, but increases power (performance) to the engine. Like an engorged river about to bust, in hierarchically arranged systems there are no unproductive expenditures.
And like every individual, the synergy we call "Capital" or "The Establishment" is only truly happy when it is out of control and everything else is in.
Rather than the reactionary's reactionary negation of that which can be placed into the exchange economy, why not merely stop buying and selling? For the insurrectionary-minded, why is the destruction of everything "co-opted" so easy to imagine and consider appropriate, but the elimination of one behaviour ridiculed as utopian and the mischief engaged in its place "futile"? One who stops selling her/his self is no longer a commodity. Period. Make mischief, not money! A brick through a window is neither a tactic nor a strategy. It is a poetic expression! What the revolutionary-minded do not understand is that freedom is the "ownership" of the means of mischief, not production. There is no choice to be made until one comes upon a turning point. This is the basic law of navigation.
Every internal or external contradiction produces friction, which is heat, which continues struggle. Struggle always produces a victor (think 'quicksand'). It is therefore always encouraged. Capitalist civilisation is the absolute extent of the nature of dialectics. That is the only absolutely agreed-upon absolute. Unfortunately for the civilised, every child understands that nature itself is not dialectical. At least, not till they learn the word, "opposite" and are taught its universal application. This lesson ends childhood. Mischief, an invention by children of every species, breaks one free of all friction cycles. Even those that spiral. Other than outright murder or lobotomy, the only reaction the civil can engage is to increase acceleration.
Intent can only be demonstrated by transgression. No problems are transcended. As obstacles, they are transgressed. Swerve is only nature's way on helping out when one's intent is unsure. Then watch out – anything can happen. To bring the unconscious into awareness is Patamimesis. A facticity turning wrongside out is Dada. The most radical subjectivity is alterity, and that is a matter of ecstasis, neither clairvoyant nor political but psychaesthenic.
THE WORLD IS NOT MACHINIC
by Ted Czarkinsky
machines attempt to be worldly
In the Deleuzean language of assemblages, (although I doubt he would agree with me), each organic moment, however measured, is a unique assemblage compared to the previous. Its uniquity is independent of ideas of progress, aggregation or synthesis, even if it does not negate them. Immanent to every moment, even those whose prediction "comes true", is indeterminate possibility, chance, a hidden chaos. Hence the common phrase, "Shit happens when you're a duck".
In the language of machines, which is completely entangled with progress (that is, is measured by such notions as energetic or material efficiency, all to bypass the first law of conservation and its implication), operation is static for any given mechanism. When each moment is equal to or dependent on the previous – whether a parallel, oscilating or chiasmic reflection of charge and discharge – time itself disappears between fueling and running empty. Thus, machinic consciousness (other than the bliss of pragmatic function or vexation of impending breakdown) can only exist in the moments of perturbation, the giddy excitement of "ON" and the annihilating terror of "OFF". The machine must be able to depend on a consistent balance of inputs and outputs in order to function, mindless or "worry-free". Acceleration and deceleration are merely predictable variables of movement occurring between on and off, full and empty, and whose perturbing effects can only be felt by the other who is not machine – the pedestrian or passenger, a fly would do.
Very likely, dialectic machines do dream of solar-electric sheep.
In as much as the machine is an external organ (and therefore disposable or replaceable without incurring loss), it is external to organics. Even where the tool can replace the organ, technology cannot replace the organism. Every tool requires an organic doctor or service-station attendant, even self-replicating tools which produce other tools must experience this schizophrenogenic co-dependency.
Should one trace the rhizomes of even the most fully automated service station for automobilic drones, one will find a sweaty little feller wielding an ax, wrench, pitchfork or shovel. The "self-sustainable" machine planet is impossible. The machinery of production, its force and its means, require the care and maintenance of disposable and replaceable service providers. What should have excited Mr. Marx is the insertion of chance by servants with a well-placed monkey-wrench into the machinery itself. Maybe he was excited by the possibility, but the transfer of ownership changes nothing in the master-slave relation, the ongoing antagonism between Technon and Orgon – it's a fundamental religion, after all!
"Mechanisation is not the key to any immortality. Introduce a little Anarchy!"
– Osama ("Billy") Auden, Come Mr. Taliban, Tally Me Banana, from Decca Records™, 1963
War for the Planet "Gizmo"
The real clash was always between the gods and the titans. The outcome of this war was assured by 1848, 200 years after the first modern battle was fought in Britain (when the house of gods and house of titans were brought under the same roof with the construction of the permanent parliament – there was nothing common about it!), a little over seventy after the second fought in the Americas (the gentleman's empire "won" in both cases, despite the entries in history books), but very likely six thousand years after the hostilities first broke out.
The S.S. Titanic was to be the triumphal symbol of the Bureaucratic technological (that is, industrial) domain over the planet. The future had finally arrived. When 'she' sank off the coast of new-found land, global war was waged against dada. Absurdity was all the craze when more bellies were empty than full, despite the promises of the new century. Steam was suddenly out of vogue. Diesel was the new bread, whose fields would not flourish but for another global clash, this time unprovoked (unless you consider that fuel oil had as yet failed to provide a suitable replacement for food), and folks were grumbling again. Today we hear again the familiar call, this time for global civil war.
Local tradition has always presented an obstacle to progress. The aim had therefore been the annihilation of the totality of social relations. The last little war in Indochina was the eighth extension of the French-English war, during which British Petroleum, under the colonial euphamism, Standard Oil, waged a fierce battle against Michelin Tire and Rubber for control of the historic materials of production, not thirty years after Sherwin & Williams, operators of the biggest canibis plantations on the planet, were persuaded to replace hemp oil with lead and petroleum in their paints. Like hemp, rubber means peasants and tree farms. Oil means Industrial engineers and machinery – automation provides autonomy from the soil and the soiled. When the last rubber-tree plant burned in orange napalm, France surrendered once and for all. It was a total victory for burgeoise oil, camouflaged as an insurrectionary route by local guerrilla forces.
The Seductive Spider?
Au contraire, Pierre, a spider never seduces its dinner. Seduction would not even apply to the Venus Fly-trap, which only indicates an error in judgement on the part of pollenating insects. The web is well-placed alongside another's path, a point of transition, a bottleneck like a Chinook fishtrap or a cop posing as a hooker on a busy downtown intersection where one might expect a bit more authenticity. The extent of the web is the horizon of a spider's perception extending its sensation of a perturbation. The spider still must move to the vibration to enwrap and consume it. It is a joyful noise played on the spider's web of expanded consciousness. If anything, it is the fly which, albeit inadvertently, seduces the spider with an angelic pluck of the harp string! A sublime sound for the spider, a frantic wiggle for the fly.
Seduction, on the other hand, is an invitation for some mutual wiggling and not a matter of consumption at all. It is not, as Baudrillard suggests, a faux appearance for possession; it is merely an expression of receptivity. A faux appearance for possession is a sales pitch to enfavour a commodity exchange. A seductive adornment is merely an expressive emphasis, to attract another's attention, a perturbation within their perceptual horizon. A pleasant surprise. A question of extension by means of a simple redirection where a loud vocal announcement such as "Hey baby, wanna booogie?" may seem inappropriate for the situation.
There is a difference between seduction and entrapment residing in one's motivation. Hell, they don't even rhyme! The confusion is brought on by the posing of equality when we notice matching patterns. When we witness overwhelming entrapment in our own lives, we redirect to that side of the equation as par excellent or primary index of the other. Thus, in the same manner that Baudrillard cannot find an "authentic" gift (he thinks it therefore cannot exist), he says seduction is at base entrapment, jiving with social psychologists who pronounce all communication antagonistic.
Pretty quickly, half the equation disappears altogether by virtue of linear sequencing. Reductionism reduces meaning by shrinking the horizon of perception. It does not annihilate meaning, which is always a potential. From a mechanical point of view, the same muscles are engaged in seduction and entrapment. It is a matter of polysemy which gets the poet in us excited, whereas the mathemetician proclaims identity and "end of discussion". The romantically susceptible has at least a fifty percent chance of error. Over time, our own language illustrates the poetic associations of similarity without demanding linear causality: a tela 'web'; a toile 'sheer fabric'; a toilette 'bag for clothing'; a toilet 'receptacle for shit'; coming full turn back to toilette water 'perfume to cover the stink' and network telecast a 'web of lies'.
Manifesto for 'The Revolution of the Word'
TIRED OF THE SPECTACLE OF SHORT STORIES, NOVELS, POEMS AND PLAYS STILL
UNDER THE HEGEMONY OF THE BANAL WORD, MONOTNOUS SYNTAX, STATIC
PSYCHOLOGY, DESCRIPTIVE NATURALISM, AND DESIROUS OF CRYSTALLIZING
A VIEWPOINT. . .
WE HEREBY DECREE THAT:
1. THE REVOLUTION IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IS AN ACCOMPLISHED FACT.
2. THE IMAGINATION IN SEARCH OF A FABULOUS WORLD IS AUTONOMOUS AND UNCONFINED.
(Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity…Blake)
3. PURE POETRY IS A LYRICAL ABSOLUTE THAT SEEKS AN A PRIORI REALITY WITHIN
(Bring out number, weight and measure in a year of dearth…Blake)
4. NARRATIVE IS NOT MERE ANECDOTE, BUT THE PROJECTION OF A METAMORPHOSIS OF REALITY.
(Enough or too much !…Blake)
5. THE EXPRESSION OF THESE CONCEPTS CAN BE ACHIEVED ONLY THROUGH THE
RHYTHMIC “HALLUCINATION OF THE WORD”. (Rimbaud).
6. THE LITERARY CREATOR HAS THE RIGHT TO DISINTEGRATE THE PRIMAL MATTER OF
WORDS IMPOSED ON HIM BY THE TEXT-BOOKS AND DICTIONARIES.
(The road of excess leads to the palace of Wisdom …Blake)
7. HE HAS THE RIGHT TO USE WORDS OF HIS OWN FASHIONING AND TO DISREGARD
EXISTING GRAMMATICAL AND SYNTACTICAL LAWS.
(The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction…Blake)
8. THE “LITANY OF WORDS” IS ADMITTED AS AN INDEPENDEDNT UNIT.
9. WE ARE NOT CONCERNED WITH THE PROPAGATION OF SOCIOLOGICAL IDEAS, EXCEPT
TO EMANCIPATE THE CREATIVE ELEMENTS FROM THE PRESENT IDEOLOGY.
10. TIME IS A TYRANNY TO BE ABOLISHED.
11. THE WRITER EXPRESSES. HE DOES NOT COMMUNICATE.
12. THE PLAIN READER BE DAMNED.
(Damn braces ! Bless relaxes !…Blake)
BOYLE, WHITE BURNETT, HART CRANE, CARESSE CROSBY, HARRY
CROSBY, MARTHA FOLEY, STUART GILBERT, A. L. GILLESPIE, LEIGH
HOFFMAN, EUGENE JOLAS, ELLIOT PAUL, DOUGLAS RIGBY, THEO RUTRA, ROBERT
SAGE, HAROLD J. SALEMSON, LAURENCE VAIL.
from transition No. 16-17, June 1929.
Pantomime & Recouperation
The world, apart from our condition of living in it, the world that we have not reduced to our being, our logic and psychological prejudices, does not exist as a world "in-itself"; it is essentially a world of relationships; under certain conditions it has a differing aspect from every point; its being is essentially different from every point; it presses upon every point, every point resists it--and the sum of these is in every case quite incongruent.
A thing "falls into the aesthetic of war as long as it is deemed valuable and is appropriated by the economic system" (Heather Marcelle Crickenberger, Absence of Mind
). “The structure of awakening” (Walter Benjamin's Arcades Project
) presents a means of locating a structural guide for a kind of generative thought that “is totally useless for fascism”. That is to say, the book is easily commodified but the kind of thinking it is hoped to generate is not only incongruent but chaismatic. By comparison, the kind of thinking presented by Alfred Jarry is downright antimetabolic. To wit: on opening night, his play Ubu Roi
sparked riots all through Paris.
Such a guide is provided by pantomime as much as any novel architecture. While anything can be sold, the sale of pantomime is suicidal gesture, a death wish if any audience is fluent in any language beyond rigid plainspeak. Such a language, pantomime, is an a-linear and a-chronic side swipe, unable to be refuted as antihistorical or discarded as utopian futurism. Such an audience knows in advance that it is a matter of mirrors, but not smoke. A different theatre altogether is suggested by smoke and mirrors, the spectacle of the general economy. Be careful what you wish for, if all you want is money or rank.
This is why Bullwinkle had to go. Four boxes of wheaties were sold in exchange for a whole generation of hypercritical humorists. And irony is a contageous thing. Really great (if you liked really bad movies) corrupted productions of Poe starring Vincent Price persuaded this same generation to read the original and excercise their head muscle, simultaneously allowing for the eternal recurrence of Alfred Jarry and Antonin Artaud. Even though this is a temporary boon to the operators of Coulee Dam and the American Psychiatric Institute generating revenues from electroshock treatments, the general electric cannot stop the cycle of regeneration of discontent without exterminating everyone involved in media production, whether they own it or not.
City Boys & Their Wars
Sun Tsu, Clausewitz, Napoleon, Hitler, Schmidt and now Deleuze via Tiquun. It's always the sedentary, peace-loving townies against those pesky, barbarian, nomadic country folk. Potslevanians. Spy vs. Spy. One would think everyone else just finished reading Will to Power
too! It's all the rage: War Machine, War Machine, War Machine. The state's exterior. Well, why not? Deterritorialize your mind on the interweb, and you too can join the war effort! Cyberwar. What a laugh. It's just another spider web.
Deleuze' Nietzschean mistake is merely a repetition of Napoleon's and Hitler's, assuming a universality of the city mentality. The reason the Nomads let the noblemen of Rome and Istanbul flee to Mediterranian bunkers is precisely because they did not share the democratic will to power and it's hegemonic ambitions. It was enough "to hit the enemy with a little stick. Humiliate 'em. That's how you teach a coward a lesson and win a war" (– Thomas Berger).
Even Ghengis Khan made no significant impact on the peasantry. Like Jessie James, he understood they were kindred spirits. Even Vikings pretty much limited their pillaging rampages to the churches and their supporters. Why not hurl a brick through a bank window if you're pissed off at money, religious currency, the current religion? That's not war, it's a poetic expression! What history failed to record was that hardly any peasants lived on the farm year round. They farmed during planting and harvest. They moved on to fishing villages during fish runs. They hunted or herded during the interregnum in seasonal rounds of movement. A more-or-less permanent village was habitation for the less ambulatory and a Winter-long party place, meeting place, party meating. The attribute, "war machine", does not come into being until the authentic war machine, the civil relation, the legal sanction against movement, is encountered. The birth of permanent disgruntlement extruded from beneath heavy slabs of meddlement.
(I recently saw an intellectual property warning: "Unauthorised use is strictly unauthorised!" Pretty smart language for a college professor!).
Warriors. In fact, "Warrior" is just a bad translation of various terms for cross-cutting indigenous youth societies, adopted by city boy historians or bureaucratic administrators because something of the concept is so familiar: police and the military. It was, after all, these societies (see Lana Lowe & Taiaiake Alfred, Warrior Societies) of youngsters who presented the effective resistance on the battle fields, fields of civilised encroachment. Deleuze would have us believe the military police are immanent whenever young and old adolescents get together, given a "purpose" by "elders", by tradition, just to get them out of their own hair or encourage adventure, to travel around making sure everyone has sufficient help and feel important in the process. The U.S. military has ironically used the same tactic in their advertisements: "See the world! Get an Education". What they don't tell you is this:
You're paid to stop a bullet.
'It's a soldier's job', they say.
And so you stop the bullet...
And then they stop your pay.
– Chad Mitchel Trio
But every drop-out from town has made the same mistake, the expectation of familiar sedentism to be represented merely on a smaller ("simpler") scale. To this day, we hear "If I could just get enough bread together, I'd buy a place in the country and start a commune". This is gentrification, nothing more. A squatter, on the other hand, holds no allusions toward permanent settlement.
What was Napoleon's & Hitler's mistake in their attempt to take on the Russian Steppe? Bad Anthropology. Wrong Destination. Inappropriate Strategy. Too much planning. Not enough Terror. Fear of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Operating without a supply line, appropriating the nomad's technique of the raid, they were annihilated, not by the winter as we've been led to believe, but by peasant movement itself. Under the Romanoff Czar (a Roman tax collector par excellent), the folks had no stores to leave behind and were free to form local 'partisan' or insurrectionary guerrilla resistance. The invaders could not resupply along the road to Moscow. Napoleon and Hitler had a bit of Roman in them as well. Dense like the lettuce. Extending exploitation in the process of mastering their domain, they could not match the terrorism of the U.S. Cavalry out west.
They needed workers and farmers.
There were plenty of European dropouts arriving daily to U.S. Shores. Migrant labor power come to settle down. If they did not come as a response to invitation, they were 'shanghaied'. Nothing has really changed, though it is considered much progressive over the slave-ships now outlawed by international "agreement", illustrating superior returns when relying on the confusion between seduction and entrapment rather than brute force. The result is the same virtual reserve army of workers.
Back in the day, there was no destination out west but destiny itself. What did they do when they reached the coast? Nuked the American Southwest to prevent communist infiltration! I am told there were dead sheep everywhere! Today what life survives there are arrogant but sexually ambiguous two-headed toads with, not romaine, but cabbage growing between their ears.
The most manifest act of terror is total extermination. Nothing can stop that but an equal counterforce resulting in permanent ("cold") war until there is achieved mutual annihilation. The Soviets merely stood down in exchange for key positions in Western governments and supernational corporations when both sides realised the military technology had grown beyond anyone's control. Class struggle itself is a recapitulated and permanent condition of the permanent city. To exterminate the workers means they have to clean their own toilettes! There can be no resolution, with or without game pods and cell phones. When total extermination is not desired, one side generally stands down (that would be the side without police) in order to preserve civilisation itself: the eternal return of sedentary life. A peace of struggle and survival.
The Allies, Hirohito and Churchill, Mussolini and Roosevelt, Hitler and Stalin, pretty much put an end to peasantry as mobile or mobilizing living with the second big war fought for mass industrial agriculture to replace antiquated feudal remnants and pockets of local autonomy. A war of global modernisation – homogenised, pasteurized. As a result, no one today remembers how to eat. That was always the idea, to plasticize food in manufacturing plants in the industrial sections of every big city, interconnected by cloverleafed rhyzomes to distant oil derricks. If there has been a war machine inherent in the "working class", it has been an ongoing resistance to synthetic food or petroleum-based diapers (there's a gallon of gas in every package) and digital alarm clocks. The rest might grump over their own boss, but get rid of bossdom? Nah.
But how would victory appear? Refining life itself, Sustainably! (Tired of red? Now comes in green for your viewing delight! Soylent Green™!) With even earlier weaning, artificial milk (presumably from soy- and lentil-based proteins grown hydroponically in petroleum vats) and genetically accelerated dental development, we should encourage more pregnancies. Jet fuel could be processed directly from breast-milk at the local rubber plant. Hey, where's your civic pride? From each according to her ability to each according to his need! Right?
The Reprobate's Will to Distributivity
Movement, walking, is not a means of self-discovery but self-placement
– which is other-discovery.
I've just read Nietzsche's Will to Power. A lot of good ideas for a city boy. But...
"Doesn't the seducer end up losing himself in his strategy, as in an emotional labyrinth? Doesn't he invent the strategy in order to lose himself in it? And he who believes himself the game's master, isn't he the first victim of strategy's tragic myth?"
– Baudrillard, Seduction
By Book Four, Nietzsche's iconoclasty completely disappears (now I know why nazism is still going strong). After three volumes contradicting contradiction itself, the man gives up and concludes along with his nemisis, Hegel, that friction only makes you stronger. I don't think he got out much!
Committed to the city or town, one is concerned with the rank of things, since horizontal movement is out of the question. In some perspectives, rank is the smell of the gaseous emanations of death. The city has much to cover up. The expression of the will to power is to rise in rank above the stench. But down in the trenches, that rotten smell is not of Danish fish. Everyone secretly wishes for a penthouse apartment, a loft if one should be of a more bohemian nature. Someone must have forgotten that the "Bohemian Spirit" they wished to emulate lived on the road or along the river!
Of course, it was the Bohemian anarchists who federated into the first defensive nation-state when circumscribed by the holy roman empire.
The problem with circumscription is that altitude does not alter the nature of intestinal gas, and it is the lingering fart itself which contradicts the law commanding hot air to rise. The only absolute law of physics is a fact of biology: one does not become accustomed to shit, one endures it. The only absolute law of civics is also a fact of biology: The outhouse is not a suitable residence.
The fruition of the will to power is a comfortable wheelchair, an entertainment center and room service. The wheels are superfluous, except in the extreme event of a fire coincident with a dead battery in your cell phone.
Other mammals have legs which carry them to food and entertainment, which is to say, diverse environmental situations which preclude boredom or death from starvation.
We have legs as well, but they are vestigial organs. They serve no purpose beyond moving from the toilette to the idiot box or from the car (equipped with all the comforts of home but a toilette) to the work place and back again. This is not so much of a problem once we acquire the skill of relieving our own waste as the auto re-imbibes in its nourishment. A gas station without a toilette isn't worth the stop.
It is completely reasonable that Nietzsche (FN) proposed a will to power as the grasp of objects. That is all one can accomplish permanently ensconced in a city. Nietzschean personal power isn't too much of a leap from Stirner's Egoistic "Possession through might", despite all FN says about dissolving the ego after embracing our multiplicity, that we are more than merely reasoning beings:
"one must want to have more than one has in order to become more." For this is the doctrine preached by life itself to all that has life: the morality of development. To have and to want to have more – growth, in one word – that is life itself.
...It is richness in personality, abundance in oneself, overflowing and bestowing, instinctive good health and affirmation of oneself, that produce great sacrifice and great love: it is strong and godlike selfhood from which these affects grow, just as surely as did the desire to become master, encroachment, the inner certainty of having a right to everything. What according to common ideas are opposite dispositions are rather one disposition; and if one is not firm and brave within oneself, one has nothing to bestow and cannot stretch out one's hand to protect and support".
Freedom of movement, the adventure, exploration or "true" experimental method, suggests an entirely different function for consciousness, if such a function even needs positing. Rather than come to terms with or master the environment, we merely read it, observe it, our bodies move through it.
Essential: to start from the body and employ it as guide. It is the much richer phenomenon, which allows of clearer observation. Belief in the body is better established than belief in the spirit.
With movement, will is reinterpreted away from the power of grasping and taking and toward chance and distributivity. That is, power is seen as movement, choice and resonance, no longer as strife and conflict of egoes. We resonate with situations or events, or we move on. It is not necessary, as Nietzsche declared, to impose equality to our articulations before we propose them. Planted ideas are dead ones. Movement itself shatters the idea of fixed boundaries when we realise the horizon is always equally distant, irregardless of speed – there are no shortcuts except to landmarks, and these are merely rest stops, points of interest or symbols for triangulation – perambulation with intent.
Grazing and hunting live in the same bag, in the same psychogeographical space. It's a matter of taste by means of a track. What is accumulated is in the gut. Experience, on the other hand, is a whole body affair, and that is memory. I absolutely agree with FN: "I" are a multiplicity. Once the little guys start vibrating, the slightest reminder and they'll start up again and repeat the performance, although not always in the same key. It's no longer even a matter of pragmatism. With no fixed location, there are no fixed unities, no fixed ideas, no fixed ego. Likewise, in superflourishing system, everything is potentially useful so pragmatism becomes a pure redundancy. Meddlement itself disappears when we no longer consider the world in need of fixing. A properly fixed space is a grave site. An adornement which fixes the past in our memories. A place for repose. A sacred place for the dead. The living must move on, so it is said.
Moving right along, everything is provisional, even interest. This is also to say "everything is provided". No operator's manual is required. The trick for humans is not to explain it, get it, stand under or over it, but to move through it, just as, when you eat, it moves through you..
It is true (if I can use that word) that "we make equalities", similarities, there are also similar situations whether we are around or not to make the comparison. Some continue to resonate from a time before any of us were around to listen! These are not equalities any way. Commensurability is not equality. Equality itself is only a mathematical construction and has no bearing on metaphysics. Pataphysics only states the equality of all absurdity resonates with the absurdity of all equalities. A political idea? Give me a break!
"nor reason, nor thinking, nor consciousness, nor soul, nor will, nor truth: all are fictions that are of no use. There is no question of 'subject and object', but of a particular species of animal that can prosper only through a certain relative rightness; above all, regularity of its perceptions (so that it can accumulate experience)
...the measure of the desire for knowledge depends upon the measure to which the will to power grows in a species: a species grasps a certain amount of reality in order to become master of it, in order to press it into service.
..."Truth" is the will to be master over the multiplicity of sensations: to classify phenomena into definite categories."
In fairness to Nietzsche, these quotes are extracted from a context of perspectivism, interpretation and fictitious syntheses and unities. But "lust to rule"? Still subjects and objects. Where is there room for the predicate amidst so many things? Are there no verbs in this room other than "have", "master", "control"? Mere synonyms of power?
I think FN went too far with his constructionism. Most linguistics concerns the analysis of pictures, not sounds. It is the construction of pictures (presumed from sounds) and then the analysis of those constructions. One could as easily construct a grammar from torn bits of paper strewn on the floor and call the assemblage "words and sentences" exhibiting the same patterns as that produced by vibrating throat muscles and ear drums. No one should speak like they write! No melody (except in machinic simulations) derives or is generated from the arrangement of filled or solid circles variably placed along five lines and four spaces. Those are merely graphic imagery for recording after the fact – the construction of memory for later transmissions. Analogy.
Transmissions always refer to sharing discoveries encountered during an adventure. Elsewise, where is the interest? The interest is not in inhabiting space, as has been said of unitary urbanism. Mere inhabitation becomes inhibition through habituation. Interest is found. Interest is found by moving through space. Meaning is a provision. Meaning is a provision one does not take for the trip or acquire from it. Meaning is provided by the trip...and stays there. Tripping does not always refer to a three-gated horse, vis. "trip, stumble and fall".
"Usually, one takes consciousness itself as the general sensorium and supreme court; nonetheless, it is only a means of communication: it is evolved through social intercourse and with a view to the interests of social intercourse – "Intercourse" here understood to include the influences of the outer world and the reactions they compel on our side; also our effect upon the outer world. It is not the directing agent, but an organ of the directing agent."
A directing agent will never encounter a surprise.
On the other hand, a dérive within one's own city is only a prelude to consciousness. Expanded consciousness occurs when several cities are explored without preset (fixed) expectation. At a certain point, cities become indistinguishable. At this point, many reprobates consider the whole experience a waste of time and settle down. One place is as good as another. The only variable in the decision is the quality of room service. This is unfortunate and retrograde.
On the other hand, there are those occasions occurring along the road which have been labeled satori or enlightenment by some. The realisation of absurdity by others. It's nothing very special, really. Not esoteric or wise in any sense. It is the moment that one finds the meaning of movement itself, and that only occurs on the road between cities. Kerouac tried to tell us, it's on the road. When we discover that so much of the world is actually edible, we will reconsider the old sentiment on the "primitive fight with nature" and turn it on its head. Food is not manufactured in the industrial section of any town! The primitive struggle for existence occurs every day in every town where folks are burried prematurely and have yet to discover that they died along time ago. It is called modernism.
The absurdity is the destination itself. Planting is quite suitable for vegetables, but mammals move. When they get planted, they are plant food. Manure. Shit. So many philosophers have considered this the true essence of humanity. The philosophy of excrement. Science itself is eschatological. How many dissections are required before we are biologically available for plant metabolism? Some scientists take this even further. How many dissections are required before excrement is indecipherable from cement? A chemist's and geologist's utopias are similar: A world of rocks without scissors or paper. Ah, for the simple life of inanimate (unmoving) matter.
"In a purely quantitative world everything would be dead, stiff, motionless – the reduction of all qualities to quantities is nonsense: what appears is that the one accompanies the other, an analogy".
Indeterminate Matrix: Mere Anarchy
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
— W.B. Yeats, The Second Coming
Mafialogy or Polypeptide Swerve?
WHEN A CUP IS A PEBBLE BUT NOT A WARM ZIPPER
Greek kallisto < kalos 'beautiful'
Arabic khalifa 'successor'.
Greek khalix 'pebble'
Latin cala 'protected place'
late Latin caldaria 'cooking pot' < Latin caldus 'warm'
Latin calendarium 'moneylender's account book'
Vulgar Latin colondra, 'alteration' to account books
Latin colonia 'farm, settlement' < colere 'cultivate' (see colonel, colonize, colon)
Arabic kalib 'mold'
Caribean calabash guord
French calumet 'ceremonial pipe' < Latin calamus 'reed'
Latin calix cup
Latin calculus 'pebble'
What we usually consider "the best of the best" are often in fact, the dumbest of the dumb, such as typified by celebrity doctors, lawyers and politicians. If they hear something completely unfathomable, they say "Hey! That sounds like a good idea! Let's try that!" to the tune of much fanfare and ass-kissing. By comparison, the capo mafioso is a minor crook operating at a major level of genius. Concerned with the here and now and ever more concerned with providing for family and loved ones, he will only accept that which can be provisionally proved and fucking kill anything which fucks with them and their's. No demands, no protests, no negotiations. A chiefly neolithic relic with more say than a movie director who can only throw tantrums when half the cast appears upstage with downed zippers shouting "Off the pig!".
Of course, if just anyone operated mindful of these principles, namely, fucking shit up on their own (against predators and exploiters), there would be no "need" for patriarchal mafialogy at all! And until this happens, there is no rationalism which could preclude it. On the contrary, passionate intensity and conviction demands an expression beyond stomping on the floor and slamming the door, or kissing ass and asking for more.
As long as there is an economy, there will be mercenaries, particularly since it's always been easier to kill somone than actually work a job for a living. And as long as there is law, mercenaries will be encouraged, as it is the very law against violence which guarantees the mercenary's actions will not be reciprocated. The so-called "state of exception" has always been a groundless euphamism for "business as usual".
... Being impressed with the idea that reality is not, like a zipper, an open and shut case, sometimes there are missing teeth or broken cogs or the damn thing succombs to gravity for no reason at all ...
Does up-zipping your fly produce the same results when standing on your head? In the reproductive logic of chromosomal genetics, could ontogenesis and schizmogenesis be synonyms, such that we might say dropouts, the proverbial third option or "way out" of any political maneuvering, the suddenly disappearing data, the missing bits shed from a continuously re-zippered chain back into the "indeterminate" matrix, initiate the splitting process and thereby guarantee uniqueness in every meiotic outcome when random nobodies rush in to fill the gaps? Does the dropout know it's up and gone missing? Does anyone other than submersible newsbots navigating the indeterminacy, self-generating headlines transmitted along Really Self-Sufficient feeds into our awareness? Can the double helix even survive without the cohesifying velocity of velcro?
Plain English is a dialect which maintains only the minimum functional criteria for task performance, simple reckoning or minimal (ineffectual) subliminal emotional display, so is itself neither expressive nor impressive of complex (patterned) or variably varying relations. It provides all that is necessary to maintain a certain (acceptable) mode of civil society which requires most of its functions to remain hidden. It is most definately not childish or primary as it is a thing which is learnt over a long and difficult training period. Very few actually master it. Fortunately or not, plain-speak is a dying form, if we can at all say unconsciousness is a prelude to death.
For the living, consciousness is a matter of making or perceiving associations and connections, witnessing or suspecting patterns, being impressed. To communicate this requires an expressive language which is figuratively translated or interpreted and leads to exploration beyond the rigid forms tolerable in plain-speak. Figurative understanding makes use of symbolic 'material' possibly residing slip-shod in the traditionally suppressed regions of consciousness or it generates such symbolic material, or it does both simultaneously. It comes out in slips or dreams, from elsewhere it seems. It provisionally filters impression and colors expression along latent lines or blatant themes. Else-wise, the language is precise and mechanical and has the function of generating dysphasia or putting us back to sleep. Language should be an improvisational dance, not an impracticable impasse.
THE UNCONSCIOUS IS DADA...there is no subject of the unconscious, and the unconscious doesn't speak, or discuss things. It works in its own way, it fools around, doodles. It doesn't give a shit! The unconscious is not "structured like a language." It's annoying, but it's true!
The unconscious doubly doesn't give a shit about structure or language (except for the "language of flowers" when it's a question of jokes about wasps! But whatever!). No unconscious subjectivity! No reference structure!
– Felix Guattari
Whether well-chosen or pulled from a hat, if words elicit a lively expression on the face of the observer, they are said to be witty. Artful conversation is impossible where there is one and only one correct word fitting of a pattern, or string, or grammar, when it is not accepted that the string or "sentence", the senseful utterance, has spatio-temporal precedence over the words in establishing meaning, where meaning itself is provisional, reconcilable only to the speech event, while potentially pointing to distant realms and encouraging travel there. For example, there is no pondering of paint chips needed when we attribute to another's mouthings, a "colorful expression". There is an instantaneous generalisation of the relativity of figure, color, metaphor or even baudiness eminating from the auditory exclamation. Nor does "colorful expression" exclude a certain musicality or pleasant tone. Meaning isn't always everything! ...Unless, of course, it vibrates.
When similar patterns are found to be interchangeable, it is dysphasia itself which is sent to its room till it learns to behave. Language itself can elicit any expression a face can contort, from a raised eyebrow to a prickled hair on the back of one's neck with no instruction whatsoever. The acquisition of plain-speech is what is left over when language is unlearned through too much time alone contemplating correctness.
Yet it is still thought a mechanical, more mathematical language is an appropriate replacement for plain speak. The accumulation of more new words and further articulated grammatical forms should provide more efficiency and precision to communication. This idea is absurd. New words appear when old words die or run into brick walls or otherwise produce (or reflect) unconsciousness. It is absurd yet we follow along because it is the statement of experts who should know. It is absurd simply because, without a conscious semantic dimension or shared meaning, languaging is empty babble. To perceive this is a demonstration of intuitive reckoning, or calling bullshit without analysis. Mechanical language or exponentially complexifying exposition is counterintuitive except to chemical or mechanical engineers. Bootcraft and chemical spectrometry is unnecessary to know shit before you scrape it off your foot. What if intuition were not a matter of introspection afterall, but extrospection? Expectation? And what is expectation but receptivity? The pores open.
Fortunately as well, the inspective mathematicians and rocket-scientists have ironically given us an example of complexity syn-ergized from a very small set of units: the double helix form of dna composed of only four molecules variably attracted and married in long intertwining communicative strings generating a unique baby after each uterine propulsion. R. Buckminster Fuller illustrated in his poetic use of language, how a few known words can be juxtaposed to form novel constructions which provide their own key. These words exist in no dictionary, although their formerly isolated parts do. They are weird juxtapositions. Meaning is nevertheless provided which is suggested rather than pre-delimited. Meaning is syner-generated rather than dictated or extracted. But it might take a bit of pondering, consideration or intuitive reckoning. Consider the the Fulleristic term, "omniinterattractability".
There are no wrong words in poetics. Politics? Yes. Religion? Yes. But not poetry. Not even misplaced words. Patterns emerge. They are not subject to precalculus. They are not predicted but discovered. Prediction itself emerges only from discovery. It is the state of expectation. We expect a discovery to self-iterate. I repeat, we expect a reappearance. From an analytic or mechanic's point of view, syner-generative, polychromatic semantics, (that is, meandering meanings), are impossible without omnicomplexive componential algorithmic computation. And then they disappear altogether into pure ambiguity.
Matriculated indeterminacy. From a somewhat paranoic perspective, ambiguity is a mirror. If it fits, wear it. If not, it belongs to the other, to some indeterminate other or to no one. There is an association, a misappropriation or a non sequitor. The truth of ambiguity is that it means what it means. Some antics require the antiquator and the antiquated. On the other hand, one should probably not confuse the fix, whether suffused or prefigured, with the unstable root. Syntax is meant to reduce the ambiguity between arrangement and derangement. All fixes refer to main lines, in-lines and outlines. Sin tax is the price demanded for being out of line. Even linguistic literalists cannot stick to their regimen.
If parents are so competent (even as proofessors of descriptive linguistics or pathology of speech) because of their superior cognitive development and educational training, why can they not, as a general rule, understand when their children begin to form sentences? Psycho-specialists still train young apprentices that schizophrenic speech is pure chaotic gibberish with no pattern development whatsoever. I wonder! Children playing together have little problem intercommunicating and proceed to develop a common lexicon of which parents remain incorrigibly unfamiliar. Of course, their speech and play are hardly extractable one from the other. Similarly, unless they are a-social or enveloped from others, so-called 'crazies' engage in wonderful conversations on the mental ward, perhaps only obvious with the ethnographic technique of participant-observation. Sans supervision, this interregnum between therapeutic sessions is the region of authentic therapy, and deep down, every shrink knows it. Problems with expanding consciousness? Try a specialised practioner of shrinking heads. Or take this pill! Oh, such nasty and irascible things to say of highly educated helpers out to make the world better! Objective detachment? (De-)Capitalism! Ipso facto!
...Come Mister Taliban, tally me bananna...
On the other hand, a baby is calypsofacto: improvisationally emergent from urges and encourgements, annihilating nothings in syncopated rythms. Calypso, kaa iso
(Kaiso): 'continue, go on', used in urging someone on, from West Africa to Trinidad by way of slave ships, "is a genre that cannot exist without the energy of what is current ... a competitive lyrical joust, the tournament of well chosen witty words you will recall" (– Bigmikeydread
). An apologue with, not moral so much as mordant meaning intertwined with what foreign molestors might call superficial or meaningless (and therefore, harmless), restricted to carnival or playtime. A not unhidden insult to molestors who think of it mere entertainment, which encourages the molested to "go on". Get it on! Traditional Calypso is pantomime at its finest reaction to systems of punishment or patriculation – the patrix matrix of corrective linguistics.
Likewise, child raconteurs come up with the most natural means of expressing distaste, natural authors of entertaining tales. Nigerian Kaa is like Greek apo-. The Po is the longest meandering River in Italy prone to temper tantrums. Kaa Iso is a homie's hood in Southern Japan. Calypso in Geek legend was the epitomee of hospitality and encouragement, to the point of being a seductress. Homeboy Odysseus still was able to continue his meandering journey, despite her enticements. In the Mixtec language of Central America, káá "(to appear; present and preterite tenses only)... is only used with adjectives that describe a thing's appearance on the scene". It sometimes means 'go by', the sense of preterition skipping expected steps, but not unexpected itself.
Then there is the onomatopoeic kapow! 'the appearance of a sudden surprise. Capo is a Mafia head, caput is what happens when you happen to look cross-eyed at him. If you're lucky, they will only enclamp your balls such that your voice raises an octave in pitch. If electrical in source, you become a tunable other. Ipso facto, a capo is a clamp on the strings of a guitar's neck with a similar pitch escalation. This gives rise to the Capo's idea of a garrote by guitar string and ends back again with caput, a literal decapitation apropos for any transgression. Apropos literally means 'not suitable' ('no forward (or 'not for') creation' or 'making'). Colloquially, it means 'naturally made' and therefore, 'fitting'; not artificially constructed and imposed for the taking. What is apropos is 'given' and by definition, antifascist, or 'against the fakes'.
Calypso makes a mockery of well-developed character armour. This is pantomime with rythm and meter. A'po- is apropos without the middle third. A good example of preterition, it is assumed rather than lacking. The Po river is not negated with Apo, such as a grammatical literalist might algebraicly assume, but illustrates that no river exists isolated from its intertwining matrix – a polyhedral omniinterattractibility.
Calypso is biorythmic jazz with "a cleverly concealed political subtext". Poly-helixed strands of improvisation around a theme, an invisible axis demonstrating the aponeurosis of poetry, the chiasmus of disgust with festivity implying no cancelation; the encouragement to not merely endure but create much from little, multiple entendre mocking of masters, spreading news, waking the dead, moving paralytics, sighting blindness, performing six miracles before breakfast.
All this is a dada regularity. One cannot even call on synchronicity. There is probably no rhyme or reason beyond pataphysical reality. It makes sense; it just doesn't read well.
Algebra & poetry: cubic logos or curvaceous neurosis?
The Theory of Calypsofacto
Algebra is an aponeurotic apologue, the key to understanding the nature of poetry and psychobabble as nonrandom expressions. All symbols refer to polynomial possibilities. One symbol means much. A symple symbol is signish, but points out two directions. It is semaphoric. Unlike an a-phoric aphorism which is not a double positive but a complete contradiction yielding much abhorism. There are no signs outside the prison logic of Mr. Grey Matter (aka "Greyface" – see po-faced 'expressionless').
If poiesis is 'making', wouldn't a poface be an odd expression? Making faces? Outside the bars, there are contradictions to internal truths. Internal truths are self-referential: singlephoric signiphors or ideophoric uniphors – Lacanian mirrors – only existing within boxes sealed with geometry. A double negative sometimes only expresses emphasis. Like "horibly monstrous" is equivalent to "positively negative". Like when horizons are transgressed by not merely quadratic, but transcendental equations, we say "Aha!" or "Ai!": 'another horizon and ad infinitum!' Outside is "Ooo!": the 'omnivorous omnium-gatherum', Latin for "dada". Looking inside, the double positive or superflourishing abundance is "superfluous", "beside the point" or even "pointless".
An apocalypse is a lidless box, a collapse becoming, bleeding revealing its now exposed secrets, liberated contents, a point of revelation and jubilee after the big break or general strike, the coming insurrection or collapsed institution or metaphoric self-immolation within every ceremonial rite of transition. Benjamin's "Das Passagenarbeit"; Van Gennep's "Rites de Passage". The discovery of identity thereafter is only an affinity of two parallel sinuous paths where destruction means creation and endings mean beginnings and the point is in free movement along any straight or curvy path, like a red corpuscle through a vein looking for air, like a Phoenician boat delivering a load of fish and olive oil to Etruscan ports for further festive distribution.
The difference between a dot, a point and a period depends on where you put it. An arrow points to a placed point so you can get it, or get to it, or get passed it. It is not the thing unless poignantly pointing, pointed. Then it symbolises multiplication rather than articulation. Every arrow has a point. The thing is the movement toward, away or passed. Transcendence is hopping, skipping and jumping over points, appearing quadupedally, or possibly limbless: apodal with dynamic aeriosity. Numb limbs are those incommunicado with their limbic system. There are literally no numbers without anaesthesia or amputation. Only pebbles and other calculi. That is to say, the unit named "one" is arbitrary and depends on where you place two piles of rubble from the fallen buildings. Period.
Interpretation? Polynomial equation. The first algebraists left petroglyphs all throughout the countryside. A proper codex includes at least three points of reference:
When you see the arrow, travel in that direction till you get to the first little pile of rocks I placed on the ground, and then you will know you're on the right path. Keep going about the same number of steps and you'll find another pile of rocks. That's the second pile of rocks. Look down the hill 'bout that far again and that's where the party's meant to begin.
A number is just same-space traversed between points of interest or piles of rubbish, or how many verses you can recite between labour pains, measuring the progressive elimination of space consequenting an explosion or birth or total inversion and after which point pushy dna becomes retrogressively a vestigial tag-along to inertia as encouragement begins to pull. At any rate, a number is nothing without two somethings. A negated number is less than nothing, but its imagination is sometimes fun, especially when shared at a party where spirits superflourish, when inebriated grey cells stop trying to bogart the conversation with demands for exactitude and precision. Sometimes anasthesia has merit. Sometimes it takes a bonk on the head to restore consciousness, always the primary intention when counting coup.
When any word or symbol or even rock is taken out of its context, it is negated, made nothing, and its analysis will only reveal contradiction and absurdity, the absurd nothingness of das ding an sich, the thing in and of itself, ipso facto. A baby, on the other hand, is calypsofacto: improvisational emergence, annihilating nothings with syncopated rythms.
If a being is to believe Feuerbach, a soul catcher is one pulling the rug out from under you: ® lost essence. In literal translation, Ludwig Feuerbach (the man Marx criticized for suggesting that the essence of the being of a fish is the water it swims in) means "playfully venturing fiery streams" ie., "a fish wiggling in ardent waters". A little algebra applied to the machine translation of Feuerbach himself can tickle unsuspecting funny bones. And it makes sense!
When humour is dissected from humor, one creates religion and the modern theory of medicine. There's nothing funny about a broken humerus. There is no longer a connection between that which flows along sinews or within channels and that funny feeling when the elbow is bumped by a hammer or your belly begins to wiggle or the top of your head has been taken off by Emily Dickenson. Infinite space exists between all isolated components, no matter the distance between them. Componential is "placing together", maintaining composure while composing an overture. Non Sequitur is the real dope. It just does not follow: apropos are not "those who have been appropriated" unless one is a thief or cannibal.
Let X be a pig (any pig will do) and Y be a goat and Z be a horse. Let the pig be your brother and the goat be your girlfriend and the horse be a '66 chev convertable. Put them all together and there is a story waiting to happen, a song if it makes you dance. Algebra, apologue and poem. There is no anthropomorphism in the weirdly fused apologue unless they all go to jail and each is only a confined identity or sign pointing at the mirror, and while there may be a backwordocity, there is no turning inside-out and no potential (nurturing poiesis) to follow other eveloping sinews. A sign means one thing. A symbol means anything, and that is the difference. Meaning is the transcendence of a symbol jumping over (or off of) road signs without a noose or umbelical chord. So it goes. A sign is meaningless and using signs to calculate all the possibilities in the great whatever will only produce apoplectic fits. This is apoplexy, pointing to the similarity of a completely chaotic lexicography and massive brain haemorrhage or getting your mouth washed out with soap.
Suds (Some useful definitions):
Algebra: the branch of mathematics in which symbols, often letters of the alphabet (preferably of a dead language, or better still, pictographs found in any museum of antiquity, the more obscure the better) represent unknown numbers; not to be confused with arithmetic, the removal of all rythm from any metric foot [< Arabic al-jabr 'the reuniting'].
apo-: variably "undo", "detached', "out of", "far from", "becoming", "moving along", "multiplying", "expressing", "defining", "shortening", "cross-eyed consternation". Apollo was both prophet and destroyer, Trickster, the first clue that nothing is precisely as it seems (despite what the sign says), and this is the key to poetics (see "Poem" < Greek poiema 'making' < poiein 'make'). For example:
aphoric: variably "without form" or "empty-handed" (a 'not' + phoros 'bearing') or "defined horizon" (apo + horizein see horizon). And then they call aphorism "a succinct statement expressing an opinion or a general truth"
aponeurotic: a broad sheet of fibrous tissue or expanded tendon that joins muscles together or connects muscle to bone [< Greek aponeurousthai 'become like a tendon' < neuron 'sinew', 'a meandering path']. A radiating fan in contradistinction to a linear arrow: "distributivity".
apologue: a fable that is intended to teach a moral lesson, especially one that has animals as characters [< Greek apologos 'story' < logos 'speech']. The apology is simultaneously an expression of contrition and a pathetic excuse and a very strong defense.
apodeictic: not depending on context for meaning: describes a word or expression such as "you," "this," "now," and "there" extracted from the context in which it is used showing its full meaning to be "nothing". Apodeisis is the rigid process of generating dogmatic truths and is the opposite of poiesis, the generation of contexts, much from less or even a sparkling point erupting only from flames of variagated vagaries simultaneous with a single spark igniting a mass of rubble saturated with flammable spirits – in short, "synergetic stream". Apodeisis can generate revenues through the calculated imposition of sin tax. (See "deity" 'monarch of contradiction'). Autopoiesis is self-making contexts, making sense, interweaving.
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Proper Cultivation of Tulips 101
The polyvagal theory (of Stephen Porges) says emotions are an epiphenomena or harmonic played out in a nervous dance. Porges used it to explain voodoo magic, another personal interest of mine. That's when I started reading Darwin's early work on expression and he agreed with my hunch, that expressions can be faked, but not very well. You can't have the one without the other. This is why character actors are always more impressive than method actors and child actors seem to have more talent than after they've been through adolescent education.
Which all led me to this contradictory point or cross-purpose (chiasma): What fat fuck decided to call the blossoming of children "child development"? Development literally means 'unprotected' and 'de-valued', ie, 'deflated', 'de-balled', 'castrated'!!! Like the way a tulip feels when someone comes sneeking in the night, while it is enveloped within itself, and pulls off all the pretty petals to determine if his true love loves him back. Just like rural development is the bulldozing of the landscape to erect shimmering monuments for public work.
Then I found out the difference between -tion and -ment. The first relates to a natural process, the second to an incited or intended infliction. A monument is a man-made mountain. A moment is an artificial peak in time (aka, money) to measure work. At minimum wage, there are 12.5 cents every moment. There is a centurian in command of every unit of metrical feet travelling at a rate of one hundred per pace with a countinance of grave purpose. A potion is made of naturally occurring ingredients used to influence motion. A motion is a natural movement. Evolution: Roll out. Emotion: moving outward (aka, expression). Both are matters of free distribution as opposed to the payments of tributes. Today, all tribal organisations are taxed or made stand before the tribunal awaiting tribulation. Impression sticks in the mind, necessary if you think memory is important. So out with the Id! It's monumental suppression produces invalids in tightly sealed envelopes. If we wanted to say "push the envelope" or "out of the envelopment", the more appropriate word would be evelop or express. Expression pre-vents the proliferation of pus.
Of course, etymology has its risks. Political probably does not break down to 'poly + tickle'. Although ...
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Glory glory psychotherapy
Glory glory sexuality
Glory glory now we can be free
As the Id goes marching on
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the theories of Freud
He has taught me all the evils that my ego must avoid
Repression of the impulses results in paranoid
As the Id goes marching on
There was a man who thought his friends to him were all superior
And this complex he imagined made life drearier and drearier
Till his analyst assured him that he really was inferior
As the Id goes marching on
Do you drown your super-ego in a flood of alcohol
(or something else...)
And go running after women till you're just about to fall
You may think you're having fun but you're not having fun at all
As the Id goes marching on
Oh sad is the masochism of the vagaries of sex
Have turned half a population into total nervous wrecks
But your analyst will cure you long as you can pay the cheques
As the Id goes marching on
Is your body plagued by aches and pains that you can't understand
Compound fractures, ingrown toenails, floating kidneys, trembling hands
There's a secret to your trouble - you're in love with your old man
As the Id goes marching on
Freud's mystic world of meaning needn't have us mystified
It's really very simple what the psyche tries to hide
A thing's a phallic symbol if it's longer than it's wide
As the Id goes marching on
Melanie Safka, – I.L.F. founding mother, 1969
Reification and spook possession: For Better Children
or, 'Security is Important for Lost Souls.'
Compartmentalised for whatever reason, when one becomes bonded with an idea, in need of protection or care or even display, it is a child or lover. Eyes are averted at every delinquency. It is free to move out of its compartment to explore or mingle, and there is always a room with a warm bed awaiting its return. Every transgression, if even noticed, is forgiven. Even a contrary fit disturbing its room-mates. Unconditionally, this is a no-string theory. This is maternal love fathers share, stronger than even that toward material children. "Real" children must fit, more so than even their ideal counterpart. Children won't sit still, but the ideal sets in stone, on display. Yet only well groomed and bonded ideas are truly free spirits, thoughts fully independent of the thinker. But the thinker's bond is stronger than any expression of love or hate. With love, there is absolute truth. Less, there are degrees of concern or even ambivalence. As well might be felt a true spirit possession, a prodigal idea impossible to expell. One must nurture or protect the idea even more so with each escalating demand. This is the chief risk of too firm a grasp of reality and firmly planted feet. It has a tendency to solidify one. Or the spirit acheives more rock-hardedness and the person becomes a noxious vapour. It could be dangerous for bystanders.
Life is much easier without nouns, unless they are provisional. But verbs? They're what make life interesting and in motion. I just noticed I hardly ever use them in my writing.
Back to my face exercises.
i do 'face exercises' sometimes
Yes, yes, yes. I just finished reading the gargantuan Expressions of Emotion in Man & Animals by Charles Darwin. He started the project in 1838 (published in 1844 and again in 1872), and the revised edition I have was 1899. Obscure to say the least. Yes, it's very very bad here and there. But the descriptions are amazing (and in this day and age, foreign), and there is a thread of something running through it which, sadly, Darwin didn't even see. It helped close a loop or open a window (not sure, both I guess) concerning my own current obsession with expression.
My conclusion or closure is that if you look at the whole person, the panto(wo)manic, so to speak, one cannot separate the expression from the feeling. Stop doing one and the other disappears and the world bleeds to death. Feeling is a total performance, not a brain thing. Maybe thinking and writing about it is only a possible prelude to actually doing it, as restrained as we seem to be? I think there are no such things as nouns. Like, when you've been buried by civility, writing is the most verbal thing one can do. That has to be critique, or its just another job for political ("like me!") or economic ("feed me!") remuneration.
I pretty much feel nothing. I worked very hard to get where I am. I think I'm not the only one. I seldom find any expression on the street; maybe an ocassional wave, but eyes rarely meet. I like movies, but only those with really good character actors in tragicomic circumstances. I experience copious tears in a weak-ass experiment with crying. It's the best I can do. My anger is like my depression, living at a theoretical level. I used to punch holes in walls. But subdued and laid-back was supposed to be cool. Cold blooded, that is. I had a whole life spent in conscious self-suppression. But Vulcan was supposed to be god of fire and a bit of a joke, not ice! Now, even the attempt to smile causes great pain in my face muscles. No wonder my oxygen delivery system is all fucked up.
So I've started to think about faking facial expressions at least and flailing my arms about as I speak. It's new and pretty clunky. But it still requires some point of interest to center on. Aesthetics died along with philology after Darwin. That is when academia accelerated full steam down a blind alley toward a brick wall with no breaks. There is no doubt people are stupider today. And it's not a brain thing!! IQ is not the intelligence quotient, but the iteration quotient. It measures how well one can obey.
I always thought good character actors should be among the most empathetic. I think that only works for child actors, being closer to a living being than after life (not after-life) is crushed in adolescence (well, maybe). Back in the day, we used to crash cast parties. Dropping acid with actors is like really fucked. There is no one left underneath. Or, every character ever played comes out, but one at a time, suitable or appropriate to each turn of events. Maybe that is how it should be? Maybe, but I can't get a handle on the whole pattern (panto(wo)man) of who I'm talking to. One minute, a vibe, the next dissonance, and they were just as perplexed as I. We have to have a whole before we can hack into it or drill it with holes. We recognise wholes with no cognisance of parts. There's something holy and processual (or processional (moving?), unprofessional) about it. Poiesis is gnoetic poetics. It blooms. Pantomime is whole-body/-ies poetry/-ies, the most distant points from Esoterica. Pantomicritique is the experimental exercise intent to defamiliarise.
Back to my face exercises.
Fish and birds have it easy. One can move with friendly currents even at rest. There are currents on dry land other than air, but they cannot be navigated with persistent interference. They are currents of reinforcement or better, encouraging contingencies. There must be interest and engagement. More a matter of conditional operation than operant conditioning (in behaviourism, which calls to mind more than a bit of interference, intervention, meddling by and for outside interests), we are rather talking about interest in interesting outsides. Of course, if the outside appearance of the pattern of currents are nothing but meddlement and control, going with the flow is contraindicated. Good time for tacking around the storm front, particularly when our counterforce is dwarfed by the size (or sophistry) of the oncoming wave.
Organ Without Bodies
"I" is just an optical illusion. My new theory of in-out, in-out. Skin is just a synapse in the cosmic whatever. That's why it seems so unfamiliar when trying new things. Like the autonomic nervous system is the part of the cosmos inside the skin which Mr. Gray Matter has no control over. The other side is the exonomic, nervous system Mr Gray Matter thinks is a resource. It's only nervous when out of tune or dysharmonic. Mr. Gray Matter (Me, mine, I) is the self-conscious idea with delusions of autonomy and desire (or fear) of automation. You are considered crazy if you think there are internal voices as well as external voices. That's the big lie to produce a choir of one. Totality. Body without organs? A brain-organ without a body! An organ is like the ego. A dissimulation of a poly-symphony. A faked orchestra. A synecdoche taken as the literal "thing".
And fuck me, I'm not even blushing!!!
But I did blush once when a girl I secretly liked (a lot!) smiled and said she liked the look of my eyes. So I ran away, knowing that the look in my eye was only a function of a week's worth of insomnia and speed.
Back on the topic of desire, that whole topic which still seems to want to activate my bullshit detector:
Is desire even possible without first a deprivation? When one horse nibbles on another's itch (and this anecdote is from Darwin's manuscript), there is initiated a simultaneity of mutual scratching of parts unreachable alone, and that can last for hours, or until they get hungry for something they can swallow after chewing. There is unthought wisdom here that your itch will be scratched. That's not even right. It is scratched, and not as a return. "Which itch came first?" is as ridiculous as the chicken and egg debate. It seems to me like the praxis of love. Some call it automatic reflex. Some call it an economic transaction. Barbarians, one and all! We think if it's an automatic simultaneity, it's false. There must be prior conscious planning or strategy. A sign? The whole concept of timed event makes us hypocrites or power brokers. Especially when we come across a stimulating synchronicity and call that one "magic"! Uninviting, we call it "a mindless reflex" or, worse, "automaton". In other words, "excessively sentimental garbage". And, as Charles Peirce told us (the royal we, that is, in case you didn't hear him), what is sentimentality but the combination of sense (or sensuality), perception and reasonable (mental) reflection?
The economists accuse those, to whom the enunciation of their atrocious villainies communicates a thrill of horror, of being sentimentalists. It may be so: I willingly confess to having some tincture of sentimentalism in me [...] But what after all is sentimentalism? It is an ism, a doctrine, namely, the doctrine that great respect should be paid to the natural judgments of the sensible heart. This is what sentimentalism precisely is; and I entreat the reader to consider whether to contemn it is not of all blasphemies the most degrading.
– Charles Peirce, 1893
This sense should not be confused with the peculiar scent eminating from the scene, nor with the "cents" in romanticism, that hideous doctrine of Roman exchange emphatically enforced by centurians, still prattled away for a buck by poets and country-western songsters emphasizing lost investments and expenditures, like when "my old dog Red was stole by that heart-breakin' Sue, and now I'm so blue, doo wa, doo wa doo, doo wa ditty dada too". And the cash register goes "ca ching!" Five minutes of fame and all the teenage girls feint on the sidewalk 'cause we can all "oh so empathise". I once walked into a yuppie sports pub by mistake and, wearing a gray pony tail and headband, was confronted by a small well-dressed crowd who said I looked like Willie Nelson and then asked which line I was in. I said "as a matter of fact, Willie's my brother. I taught him guitar so I don't need no particular line". That was my line and they all went "Ooh!" and "Aahh!!" when I said I wrote the tune about Breakin' Heart Sue (and recited those lines just so's they'd "remember" ... and they did!) and then they bought me drinks. Despite a few shy oggles, that was all I scored that night so went home.
Romans romanticised love by placing it into an exchange paradigm. They were not the first to do this. Now it is subject to calculation or an assessment of ratios (rationalism is its doctrine), no longer to aesthetics. Gaining status as first principle, it is now said the romantic love is a culture-bound idea and not shared by the less civilised. So much is true, but since the colloquial wisdom still thinks of romance in terms of sentimentality and even mystical spirituality, the collective conclusion is that outside of civility (aka polity) human relations are purely mechanical or chaotically promiscuous or "serve no purpose" or some other such nonsense. Missionaries have said so much since forever. It is so much bullshit.
I've known unexpected love-at-first-sight and always thought it highly unfair that it was not mutual. Not returned. Tit for tat thinking. Unrequited love is the most painful thing one can experience. Look up "requite" and it tells you "a required payment". Like aesthetics breaks down to a properly placed investment? Maybe it wasn't unrequited? Maybe love is an itch which only comes to mind when another also itches? Maybe we (the smitten one and the other who only seemed to "return" your glance") were both depraved by growing up in a world deprived from the get go? Of course there is the possibility that there is error, but you can't know unless you experiment or explore the possibility. And then you might discover at second glance that you no longer possess the feeling which first accompanied your first drawn attention? Fickle? No, mistaken impression. But how can we know if we've been trained to avoid experimentation and exploration?
Would dislocated lovers suffer prolonged greif if arrangements were not dictated a priori permanent, or even singular, and there were always several kindred spirits already fishing? Might "love-at-first-sight" not be a predictable norm rather than an ontologically problematic fluke? Of course, now we are speaking not of beauty, but in fact, the aesthetics of the sublime. The peak emotion shared. To expect such a mountain to maintain at such a height, one might as well ask for immortality. But there is nothing to suggest that once climbed, the same summit will never again be reached after a suitable rest in lower elevations where the air is less thin. Of course, that first time will stick in the craw with a certain fondness unlike that toward its younger siblings, if only from the absolute novelty. Death and novelty always travel away from each other.
Natural selection, as conceived by Darwin, is a mode of evolution in which the only positive agent of change in the whole passage from moner to man is fortuitous variation. To secure advance in a definite direction chance has to be seconded by some action that shall hinder the propagation of some varieties or stimulate that of others. In natural selection, strictly so called, it is the crowding out of the weak. In sexual selection, it is the attraction of beauty, mainly.
– Charles Peirce
Aesthetics gives birth and is birthed by multiplicity! It is not ironic that aesthetics can also create patterns like family resemblance. Why do you suppose there are (were) so many fish in the sea? Competition? Did they know something we don't?
Would babies with free access to the titty till they discover new edibles in the exonomy ever experience this sort of "romantic" greif? Especially if they were not exposed to power, which tends to promote permanence in relationships (like, "no exploration! take that out of your mouth! germs! there's only this titty and that's it! forever, unless I feed it to you, on my schedule. Now open your mouth and shut the fuck up!") so that every seduction ever after experienced looks like a potential rape lasting the rest of your life? Or the uncommiting, superficially interested abuse of a one-night stand? A stand where time will never stand still when you want it to. A quicky behind the bush and nevermore is just the consumption of a use-value. Who would not feel threatened at the image of connection with another being? Just like we're supposed to feel guilty for wanting chocolate gravy on our smashed potatoes. Be happy with what you've got! Go to your room! Take that idea right out of your mind! Wipe that silly-ass grin off your face or I'll give you something to smile about! This is going to hurt me worse than you. And they wonder why we're all fucked up and reactionary? Mimed boxing is always exceptable, especially if it gets real. Especially if it is confused with sexual selection. Particularly if it becomes virtual or displayed in an mtv video or pornographic studio. And the selfish ego is still all alone! Sacrificially alone and pissed off about it. "Reproduction of the capitalist social relation" my ass! It's pure voodoo magic and that's all there is to recouperation.
Anyone who still believes in progress (the new is better only by virtue of being new) is unhappy with the world, no matter how much they blather on about their shiny new whatever and can't wait for next year's model and ooh! ooh! I'm just so excited. They then go to great lengths to teach their children that they too are not good enough. "Etherised upon a table?" Not enough! "For the last time, to remake his anatomy on the autopsy table. Then you will have delivered him from all his automatic reactions and restored him to his true freedom. Then you will teach him again to dance wrong side out as in the frenzy of dance halls and this wrong side out will be his real place." – Artaud
Stay tuned for upcoming events!
The Selection Process: A Historical Glossary of Non-mystical Mysticisms
is a matter of will-I nill-I and face the consequences
. In other words, pre-delimited choices are given or provided by the natural environment. It's an outside-in point of view. Outside consequences select from among highly variable decisions of the actors competing for position before the selection committee, made up of the implications of their own behaviour, operating for their own benifit, well, actually for the benefit of the greater good now called species – a genre of familiarity. It's a matter of right-or-wrong, with us-or-against us, fitness-or-disposal functionalism. It's a game of win or lose. Consciousness may emerge naturally or mechanicaly.
Mechanists don't see the difference with their own system, insisting nature is only a machine whose complexity is yet to be charted and delineated, a simple matter of reverse engineering to discover the blueprint. For the mechanist, consciousness is a mere epiphenomenon of organisation. Post-modern mechanists consider it a delusion of order. Either way, it is largely inconsequential. Modern biology is the child of the competition between naturalists and mechanists, with the former taken out of the loop and banished to the void, that hell formerly reserved for religious mystics, philologists and aestheticians. Today, its residents are every difference which couldn't make a difference – pure chaos. The irony is that natural selection has no difficulty predicting the hostile take-over.
reduces these gifts or provisions down to two options per module. A biological module may be an organelle, organ, organism or any organic event. Complexity is only a matter of multiple binary modules assembled such that in-out decisions may make novel pathways, but the structure does not change in the process. What appears a multiplicity of choices can always be reduced to two, an either-or cybernetic functionalism feeding, digesting and backfeeding neighboring modules. The structure can break as a result of the internal processes or it can grow through the merging or incorporation of formerly distinct modules. It is the increased complexity of agglutinating modules which produces change, a self-fulfilling argument. That which grows rather than breaks down is the winner by a priori logic. Individual modules come and go. The growing machine is immortal due to agglutination and transformation. It needs only continually increasing input of energy and a fairly well-functioning garbage disposal.
reverses the telescope so that the focus is directed from inside-out, in contradistinction to the mechanist convert, Darwin, who said it is only a matter of facsimilies of seduction (smoothe-talking males and, occasionally, image-enhancing females) and elimination of rivals should the seductive sign not be responded to favourably. On the contrary, the outside is considered a source of abundant variability which exists in either random or ordered (statistical) arrays. Consciousness is required for it's function, as it is a system of mutually personal attraction which produces familiarity and further variability, although still subject to natural or mechanical "forces". In the great war of the nineteenth century, a few naturalists escaped to hide out in this territory and in the process, rediscovered the formerly un-named field of ecology. In new disguise, this came to influence modernists like an insidious viral infection, and in fact, helped the big shake-up in the machine in the mid twentieth century with the rise of an as yet incoherent post-modernism. This was predicted by Charles Peirce in the nineteenth, just before he went down the drain of obscurity.
Meanwhile, American anthropologists had immersed themselves in the ecological paradigm and were secretly preparing their own take-over. Unwilling to be shed of the natural selection skin which was still quite comfortable and protective, if in a slithery sort of way, they promoted the idea of culture as a selective, superorganic form in its own right, tipping the telescope back in the direction mechanists prefer.
considers then the formation of pattern in local sets of selective systems, another tautology currently explained by the mechanists' "negative feedback". One could say sharing aesthetic sensitivities limits certain choices and reinforces others through the process of mimicry, or modelling the environment. Mechanists claim this system as strongly as they do the natural system. In other words, by translating any perspective into one's native language, the ontological paradigm of the native is perpetuated. We fail to emerge from the machinic ontology into a different ethos by virtue of the translation process itself. This claim of ownership by mechanists is entirely predictable by the cultural selection committee, and is good grounds for questioning the suitability (fitness, or aproposity
) of using computer simulations to enforce one's decisions. A machine culture like ours subordinates conscious actors beneath it. Unable to perceive beyond their own choices, they call it a democratic system, unwitting that it was a unidirectional surveilence system from the get-go, and they were looking through the wrong end of the telescope. The real irony is that the cultural selection paradigm highly resembles the mechanical in its more complex modular incarnations.
. There is a fifth paradigm which refuses to choose between the other four, which doesn't even enter the argument except in an often-unsuccessful self-defense. This is the epistemological, largely skeptical standpoint which realises typical ontologies are ideologically driven constructions producing integrated logical paradigms said to represent "reality" in the attempt to duplicate (or describe) it to such an extent that every choice is in fact, necessary, that choice itself is an illusion. The mechanists will always prevail because of superior sophistry, not necessarily accuracy. By refusing the game altogether, skeptics (now labeled "post-modernists" in a particularly derogatory fashion) tend to return our focus to despondency or back to sexual selection, since that is the only viewpoint which does not discount personal agency, creativity or originality, and in fact, aesthetics. The irony here is that no one is willing to discuss aesthetics itself as "that is the business of your professional artist". With so much to know, specialisation keeps professional thinkers from altering the direction of events without new machinery. The very job of a machinist is the fabrication of existence by grinding, scraping, welding, tampering. Environmental modification for internal use only, according to instructions, use as directed. What escapes predictability beyond one or two standards of deviation is force-fit more generally toward the center or destroyed.
all by itself, however semantically points to an aesthetic process. So does excitement, as in the excitement of sense organs on stimulation of an outside frequency which sets them to vibrate (or whatever it is that they do, it's all the same, a happy dance or cringe of pain, by any other special name). All aesthetics concern attraction (or its inversion) and degrees of affinity. Removing time from the equation generates "resonance", a vibrating synchronicity. Practical aesthetics is always a matter of variable engagement or disengagement, immersion or redirection. Common sense, taste and a little emotional attachment suggest that if it feels good, makes sense and keeps your juices flowing, that is the direction one usually takes when the mechanists and the specialised academics and even more specialised police don't interfere. Everyone at least secretly believes that play is funner than work, that interaction warms the heart more than seclusion, that joy is a better option than despair or sacrifice. Displays of such sentimentality will either assist the machine and be encouraged, (a machine euphamism for "recouperated and digested"
), or will disgust it (like offending god), and like god, machines can only think in terms of yes or no, permit or refuse, reward or punish, produce or be destroyed.
Three options are given:
1) Expropriate dead languages from hell and breathe new life into them;
2) Build better machines to escape the planet;
3) Build smaller machines to replace poisoned organs (poisoned, I say, because the mechanists never came up with a garbage disposal incapable of toxifying its operators); the inversion of this principle is to download our brains into the machine itself.
As none of these options seem possible given certain 'laws' of physics (and remembering that even if a 'law' is an illusion, its consequences are real), it could be that our choices have already been made for us, and the only thing left to do is become human again, with all its sentimentality and error. Chaos might just be the place, since those old dead folks keep coming back whispering sweet nothings in our ears of romance and possibility. The interweaving of imaginative musings and attention to the muses creates art. Reasonable or not, one must feel before one can appreciate, and that takes interest, expression and engagement. And that is the field of gestalt aesthetics or critical pantomime.